Everything We Didn't Say(25)

“Take me home,” I say, standing up. The bridge pitches—or maybe I do—and Sullivan hops to his feet to slip an arm around my waist.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and helps me go back the way we came, stepping carefully from railroad tie to railroad tie until all I have to do is jump off the abutment. The ground feels soothingly solid beneath my feet and I stand still for a moment to catch my breath.

Sullivan waits for me, and when I turn toward the path, we walk back to his truck wordlessly. But just before we reach the narrow clearing, he stops abruptly. I’m following so closely I bump into him, hands up to cushion the impact, and then I’m trapped against his chest when he spins to face me.

I don’t have time to turn away when Sullivan bends toward me and brushes my cheek with a kiss so sudden and chaste it makes me blush.

“I like you, Baker,” he says. It’s completely unexpected and yet entirely predictable. Almost painful in its simplicity. For just a second I can see the Sullivan from earlier, hesitant and unsure. Hopeful. Looking at me like I’m Christmas morning instead of a gawky teenager in a faded T-shirt.

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and for a moment all I can feel is the warmth of his chest beneath my fingers, the spark of possibility between us. But then I stumble backward, thinking about Ashley and dying a little inside. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to hide the fact that he’s left me winded. “I don’t think I’m your type.”

“And what exactly is my type?” Sullivan drags the back of his fingers along his jaw while he watches me.

“The staying kind.” I step past him carefully, my hands curled into fists.





CHAPTER 7


WINTER TODAY



Juniper watched as Willa slunk down the steps of Jericho Elementary at the end of the day, her backpack yanked tight across both shoulders. She pushed her long hair behind one ear and scanned the cars in the pickup lane, presumably looking for her ride. But when she caught sight of her mother leaning against a dull gray hatchback, she went rigid. Juniper knew that look: it was the raw panic of a feral cat in the split second before it bolted.

Juniper braved a smile and raised her hand in greeting, but that only appeared to make Willa even more upset. She teetered on the lip of the bottom step, considering, then seemed to realize that her fate was sealed. Willa ducked her chin into the loose collar of her coat and hurried over.

“You can’t get out of the car,” Willa muttered, brushing past Juniper to pull open the passenger-side door.

“What?”

“In the carpool lane! It’s a rule!” Willa whisper-shouted, flinging herself into the vehicle and slamming the door.

Juniper squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself a long, steadying breath before she stepped off the curb and came around the car. She tried to look on the bright side: Willa was going home with her. Her preteen daughter was moody and miserable, but at least she hadn’t disappeared with Zoe (whoever she was) like she had threatened. It was a small victory.

“Sorry, Willa. I didn’t know,” Juniper said when she was settled in the driver’s seat. “I’m new at this.”

Willa had already buckled her seat belt and was staring out the window with her arms crossed over her chest. “Whatever.”

Juniper put on her blinker and merged out of the parking lane, allowing herself to focus on what passed for rush hour in Jericho: a couple dozen minivans lined up in front of the school. As she waited for her turn at the stop sign, she contemplated driving to Cunningham’s for a hot chocolate, or maybe to the grocery store so they could pick out a treat together. It seemed like a motherly thing to do. But it was obvious that although Willa was complying, it was under protest. Juniper didn’t want to stir the pot. So she drove to the farm and waited in the car while Willa gathered up a few overnight things, then took her back to the bungalow.

Juniper had made up the futon in the spare room with the bedding from the farmhouse, but the room still looked like something from a seventies horror flick. Shag carpet, wood paneling, the faint odor of mothballs and damp drywall. It was a dismal offering.

“This is just temporary,” Juniper reminded Willa, but she was really talking to herself. She hoped—prayed—the anger and distrust that frothed off Willa would recede.

When Willa didn’t say anything, Juniper tried again. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I always came home from school absolutely starv—”

“I’m fine,” Willa cut her off.

“Okay. How about—”

“I have a lot of homework,” Willa said pointedly.

So Juniper backed out of the small room, nearly losing a finger when Willa threw the door shut behind her. For the rest of the afternoon she found herself staring at the handle, willing it to turn, until she couldn’t take it anymore and finally called Willa into the kitchen for supper. They ate beef stew that Cora had dropped off and crusty bread warmed up in the oven with cold butter, but Willa only picked at it, spearing the odd carrot or hunk of potato and then sliding it off the tines of her fork against the edge of her bowl.

They only attempted conversation once, when Willa sucked in a shaky breath and dared to ask: “Is Uncle Jonathan going to be okay?”

Juniper couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know. Reb—Grandma—called a while ago to tell me that he’s stable.” How much to tell her? How much to hold back? Willa was a teenager, but could she handle the news that her beloved uncle, the man who stepped in as a father figure when she was still an infant, was in a medically induced coma and fighting for his life? It felt like too much. Juniper settled on: “They’re doing everything they can.”